Murder and Mayhem
by nivlac
Summary: Michael was drunker than usual but he had good reason to be! He passed out on his bed only to wake up later in a frozen tundra. How the hell did he get here? And did he really just shoot a dragon in the face? Did he really just brutalize a lizard man? Are this chicks eyes naturally that red? At least one thing is the same, you cant go five feet without something trying to kill you.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey there internet! I decided that it was time to make an elder scrolls crossover with fallout. Now, I warn you, The Lone Wanderer in this fic isn't some kind of knight in shining power armor, he's kind of a dick. But hey, that's his selling point. If you read my other fic Magic and Steel, then you should know that Michael is in this story too. And you all know full well what Michael is like.**

Michael was drunk. Well, drunker than usual. Hell, he had a great reason to be! A lot of great reasons really. His father was dead, he was kicked out of his home, and every five feet he moved in the wasteland, something tried to kill him. Michael grabbed the whiskey off of his desk and took another swig. One thing puzzled him above all else about his life. Why on earth did people hail him as the savior of the wasteland?

Michael has literally killed thousands of people, and just as much animals. How can you be a 'Messiah' if you kill thousands? Even if those thousands are all made up of junkie raiders that will torture, rape, and kill whoever they please? Or if they are part of a military organization hell bent on poisoning the water supply?

The worst part of it was that he enjoyed every single kill. Every single head he smashed in gave him a rush like no other. The drug he was addicted to was death, and it was an addiction that could never be satisfied. Michael only began to notice how much he enjoyed killing after his father passed on.

After his father's death, he ran towards danger. Well, more than usual. He grew more aggressive to people he used to call friends, and that only worsened when he was forced out of his vault. Though, Michael knew that he could have stayed if he really wanted too. It wasn't like they could actually physically force him out. If they can't handle a few radroaches, then there was no way on god's green earth they could take him on.

He only left for Amata's sake.

Michael looked around the shack that he called home. Megaton was shitty, but then again, it was less shitty than everywhere else. A few people who could get past his aggressive demeanor actually liked him. His T-51B power armor sat in the corner of his room, next to his dirty bed. The white metal was covered in old blood stains, and was still in fine condition.

Michael loved his armor. That thing took everything that was thrown at it, missiles, bullets, laser blasts, and fuckin' plasma. All that showed from those was a few mere scratches on its surface. Michael didn't know what it was made out of, but it had to be a material that was way stronger than steel. Even steel could only take so much.

Michael stood up from his chair, and walked over to his bed. He looked down at himself for a moment before plopping down face first on the mattress. He was wearing his stealth suit, and it seems to have been promoted to pajamas. Or would that be demoted? Michael didn't know, he was too hammered to care.

Soon, he could feel himself beginning to drift away, and his eyes slowly shut, the empty bottle of whiskey still in hand.

…

Michael felt freezing. His eyes shot open and saw the open sky. What the hell? Michael pinched the bridge of his nose to quell his rising headache. He fuckin' hated hangovers, but he loved getting drunk. Michael took in a large breath of air. It didn't smell… wastelandy for some reason. Why was it so cold? Why was he here? Michael slowly sat up from the ground, realizing that he was holding his empty bottle of hooch in his left hand.

He promptly began freaking out as soon as he saw all the cold white snow surrounding him. This has got to be some kind of drunken dream right? Snow in the wasteland? He'd never seen snow before. Michael looked around his environment some more, and saw snow covered pine tree's. Seriously, this has to be a dream or something. There aren't any pine trees in the wasteland, or any trees at all. Well, there was oasis, but this couldn't be oasis. This dream felt too real, he was colder than he had ever been in his life. Michael then heard a roar emanate from the sky and looked above him again to see a brown dragon flying overhead.

Now Michael new for sure that this was a dream. He had always wanted to be in a dream where he could do whatever he wanted. Michael grabbed his scoped magnum Blackhawk from his hip and began shooting off rounds at the dragon while remaining seated in the snow. He fired off Blackhawk three times until Michael finally hit the thing in the head.

The bullet passed under its chin and out of the back of its head, causing the beast to fall from the sky. It crashed onto the ground with a resounding thud, and Michael could see details that he couldn't when it was up in the sky. The dragon only had two back legs, a long brown tail with spikes sticking out on the sides, and long black horns protruding from its skull.

Michael stood up from the ground, and stumbled over to the corpse.

"Fuck you dragon!" Michael yelled, throwing the glass bottle at the body.

It shattered, and Michael turned around. This dream was awesome, he had only been having nightmares lately, and even his regular dreams didn't start out with him capping a dragon in the skull. He wondered what else he could do. Michael's eyes wandered around the forest for a moment before he saw his suit of T-51B standing upright from the snow.

Michael smirked, and walked over to the love of his life. The back was wide open, and he stepped inside the suit, feeling it close around him. That's when he realized that Blackhawk was still in his hand.

"Fuckin' dammit!" Michael yelled.

Oh well, it's just a dream, what does it matter? He awkwardly placed the gun in its holster, then slipped his right arm back into the armored sleeve. He felt… oddly conscious right now, as if this weren't a dream. This had to be a dream though, come on! He woke up in a snowy forest and just murdered a dragon, this was a dream, and that was final. That didn't change the fact that his armor was keeping him warm, or the fact that he felt like shit.

How could he feel like shit in a dream? It didn't make any sense. For a moment, Michael considered the fact that this might in fact, not be a dream. After that, he promptly began laughing.

He turned around and flipped off the corpse of the dragon.

"This is fuckin' crazy." Michael said.

Michael turned back around, and began wandering the cold forest. Why did everything feel so real in this dream? The snow crunching under his boots, the birdsong, the fresh air, and his hangover all felt very real. Logic then kicked in. Dragons don't exist, therefore, this was a dream. Unless… he was in another part of the wasteland. Who knows? Maybe some kind of animal was mutated so severely it looked like a dragon.

Even if this weren't a dream, why was his armor just… there? It didn't make any sense, it's not like it followed him here. Michael was confused, and he hated being confused. He despised the feeling of being untethered, he liked to know what was going on with himself at all times, save for when he was drunk of course.

Dream? Not a dream? Michael needed to find out soon, or he might start yelling at the birds. Hell, he might just do that anyway. Michael put both hands up to his mouth.

"Fuck off you flying rats!" He yelled at the top of his lungs.

On cue, a bunch of birds flew off from bushes and trees all around him. He liked to enjoy the little things in life, such as disrespecting the corpses of his enemies and yelling at things because he felt like it. Michael then realized something that made him want to slap himself in the face.

He could just use his pip boy to find out where he was. Hangovers really must cut his intelligence down a notch. He lifted his forearm up and looked down at the screen. He went to the map menu, and was startled by what he saw.

Nothing.

The screen was completely black.

"What kind of bullshit…" Michael muttered to himself.

This was driving him crazier! Why wasn't he receiving a map of the area? Michael put his arm back to his side, and walked over to a tree. He raised his fist at it, and struck it with all his might. Michael retracted his hand, and held it in his other. He remained silent for five seconds before…

"Fuck! Oh what the fuck!? Why the fuck did I fucking do that shit!? That fucking hurt holy fuck!" Michael yelled, cradling his hand which was throbbing with pain.

This wasn't a dream? No… no… no!

"Bullshit!" He yelled at the sky.

If this wasn't a dream… then that meant the dragon he shot down was…

Real.

Michael killed a fuck mothering dragon! Where on earth was he? Okay, remain calm. He took in a deep breath of air, and let it out, then repeated the process once more. He hadn't felt this out of place since the time he was tripping balls over those punga seeds.

He needed to try to remember how he got here. Michael squeezed his eyes shut, and concentrated as hard as possible. His attempt was all for naught however, he could not recall anything that happened last night besides going to bed. Michael decided one thing, whoever was responsible for putting him here was dead. The serious kind of dead. He was surprised though that there was someplace seemingly untouched by the bombs.

He was angry, and he wanted something to smash. If he didn't get back to his house, he was terrified about what would happen to his hoard. No one would touch his hoard.

 **No one.**

It was his, and his alone, if anyone touched it, they died.

Michael closed his eyes again, and sat down against the base of the tree he struck. He needed to sit down for a moment. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. That's when he felt something sharp get pushed up against his armored throat. He opened his eyes and saw reptilian eyes staring into his own. Michael froze. He observed the figure, its head was shaped like that of a lizard, and he saw piercings lining where its eyebrows should have been.

It wore ragged looking leather armor, with a buckle around his torso. Michael went into murder mode.

"Hand over your gold or-"The thing started.

Michael yelled in its face, and grabbed the back of its head. The thing tried to slash at his throat, but unluckily for the creature, it was armored. Michael twisted to the side of the lizard man, and smashed his head against the tree. The creature looked stunned, then Michael did it again, and again.

The creature dropped its dagger after its arms went slack at its side. Michael pulled back its head and slammed it into the tree until he saw red blood beginning to stain its bark. He paused for a moment, then went back to slamming its head against the tree, yelling the entire time. He blacked out, and when he was back in reality, he saw that the things face had pretty much been reduced to ground beef.

He let go of its skull, and the thing fell on its back. Michael stood to his full height and looked down at it. Its chest was still moving up and down, though at a very slow rate. He raised his foot over its chest and stomped on it until it stopped breathing. After he was done, Michael took a deep, angry breath.

"What the fuck!?" He yelled.

Lizard people? Really? Where the hell was he? Dragons and lizard people weren't in the damned wasteland! Michael looked down at the body and saw that it even had a tail poking out of its trousers. Michael went to search his body by instinct, and when he was done, he was holding a small pouch of golden colored coins in his hand.

The thing asked him if he had gold. Why would he have gold? That wasn't really a thing anymore, so what were these coins really? He pulled one out of the brown sack and observed the coin from front to back. The sideways head of a man was on one side, and a dragon like symbol was on the other. This couldn't be real gold… could it? Michael put the coin back into the small sack, and tied the bag to his side.

If that was real gold, you know that he would take it with him to the wastes. The caps he could get for this could be crazy! It's not that he didn't have a shit ton of caps already, but could more caps really hurt? Of course not. Well, so far today he murdered a mythical beast, and eviscerated a lizard man.

Dad would be proud.

Michael chuckled to himself. What was next on the agenda? Plucking the wings from butterflies? Eating every plant in sight? Or maybe finding out where the hell he was. Michael decided to go with the third option, he liked knowing where he was. He wandered around the forest some more, until he came across a stone road.

The stones on the road were all separate pieces, as if this had been constructed with rocks that were just lying around here. Definitely not like the broken ass modern roads back home. Michael walked to the middle of it, and looked both directions. Which way should he go? Michael tapped his foot on the ground for a moment before he heard the clopping of hooves coming from up the road. He turned his head, and expected to see the familiarity of a two headed Brahmin. What he saw however, was a pure black horse pulling a carriage.

A horse.

Those were extinct! Michael pointed to the carriage driver, a man who was wearing some kind of stupid hat and ragged robes.

"Where did you get that!?" Michael yelled.

The man stopped his carriage right in front of Michael. He furrowed his brow at the Lone Wanderer.

"Whatever do you mean?" He asked him.

Michael noted that he had an odd accent.

"The fucking horse bro!" Michael yelled.

The man remained silent for a few moments.

"From Markarth. Why?" He asked Michael.

"Horses are fuckin' extinct!" Michael yelled.

And no one used carriages anymore, at least not that he knew of.

The man backed up a bit in his seat and gave Michael an odd look.

"They've never been extinct you mad man. Now clear out of the way, I've got no time for your rabble." The man said.

"Whatever. Can I catch a ride though? Can you take me to the nearest town?" Michael asked him.

The man put out his hand.

"Pay me some gold and I will." The man said.

Stingy bastard. Oh well, there was probably more where this came from anyway. He took the pouch from his hip, and placed it in his hand. The man opened the bag, and nodded approvingly.

"Hop in back and we'll be off." The carriage driver said.

"Fuckin' great." Michael said, walking towards the back of the carriage.

Once he reached the back, he saw that there was another person, a woman, in the back of the carriage, sitting closest to the exit. She wore steel armor that would cover her head to toe, if she were wearing her helmet. The armor had engravings all along it, and the helmet in her lap had little metal wings sticking out in either direction next to the eye holes. She wore an ugly green sword at her belt, and Michael meant ugly. It looked puke green, he hated that color. Other than that though, the weapon looked savage and dangerous.

She had long blondish hair that reached over her ears, and her eyes were… pure red. Not just the eye color, the entire eye was literally pure red, it threw him off and creeped him out. Other than that though, she was kind of pretty, in a gruff 'I kill people for a living' kind of way. Hell, Michael killed for a living too! So how much radiation did she get exposed to? Those blood red eyes weren't natural.

Michael climbed into the carriage, and took his seat, which was right across from her. She glared into his visor, and Michael had to resist the urge to snap her neck. He didn't like being glared at. He took off his own helmet, and glared back. He had been through this routine before, he wasn't about to be intimidated by some mutated red eyes.

…

Why wasn't he… afraid? This wasn't how this was supposed to happen. This man should be feeling fear. That's what these cursed eyes of hers were meant for. When they stopped on the road, she had looked over to see this man standing there in his snow white armor, freaking out about the horse. The fool claimed that they went extinct, ridiculous. He climbed into the carriage after paying the driver, and sat right across from her.

She didn't like that one bit. She liked her space, and even sharing the carriage with this fool was insult enough. His face had nary a scar, save for one faint white line on the right side of his head. He had a rough looking black beard, and his equally black hair reaching down over his ears. His eyes were a piercing blue, unlike any she had ever seen, and she had seen plenty blue eyes in her time.

What set them apart from the other eyes though, was the familiarity behind them. This man had killed… just as much as her, perhaps more. Those were eyes that were only owned by someone experienced in the art of killing. Too experienced. He was young, around her age if she was not mistaken.

Venne observed his armor. It was thicker than most, the helmet had two hoses connected to the oval shaped mouth piece, and a strange decoration on the forehead. Two star shaped symbols were drawn on the shoulder armor, and it had a large valve on the back. His left gauntlet was gone, in its place was some kind of large ugly watch that emanated green light.

"If you keep fuckin' glaring at me lady, I swear that I'm going to fucking cap you." The man said.

Venne furrowed her brows in confusion.

"Cap me?" She asked him.

The man then furrowed his own brows in confusion.

"You know, cap." The man said once more.

"No, I don't know, how about you explain before I send you to meet the divines?" Venne nearly growled out.

"Okay then bitch, it means I'm going to shoot you if you keep fuckin' looking at me. You'd best turn away." He said.

"Shoot me eh? With the bow that you don't possess?" Venne said.

The man took a deep breath.

"No, with the gun that I fuckin' possess. I'll send a round right through those stupid red eyes of yours." He said.

Venne smirked.

"I might just stick my blade in those stupid blue eyes of yours milk drinker." Venne said.

The man looked taken aback.

"The fuck you mean by milk drinker?" He asked her.

She smiled.

"Coward, weakling, you know, what you are." Venne said.

The man then made some kind of gesture at her with his middle finger extended. What was that supposed to mean?

"Fuck you." He said, seemingly to answer her thoughts.

Oh.

"Classy. I see that your parents didn't do a very good job in raising you." Venne said.

The man clenched his teeth in fury. He then grabbed her by the throat with his right hand. By the gods! She felt like she was being strangled by a troll! She unsheathed her dagger and held it against his neck. That gave him pause. He loosened his grip enough to where she could breath, but he did not let go.

"Hey! I'll have no one dying on my carriage! If you want to kill each other, wait until after I drop you off!" The carriage driver yelled.

The man and Venne both craned their necks to him.

"Mind your own damn business!" They both yelled in unison.

The carriage driver promptly turned back around.

"I could snap your neck right now!" He yelled.

"I could slit your throat right now!" She yelled.

They both bared their teeth like rabid wolves and Venne could feel imaginary lightning flashing between their eye contact. Both of their helmets had fallen off of their laps and onto the seats next to them, and unlike their owners, they were not glaring at each other.

"You two deserve one another." The carriage driver said.

The man and Venne both turned their glare towards him. The carriage driver slowly looked back at them, and by the look in his eyes, he regretted what he said. She was the dragonborn; she shouldn't have to deal with these idiots!

 **There we go, now leave a review, or I swear I'm going to eat your cat.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I DID IT! READ, LOVE, READ.**

"Okay, listen you ingrate; I'll let go, when you let go!" The woman yelled at him.

This ride has been pretty shitty really. Michael had been holding this psycho in his death grip the entire ride, and she had a knife pressed up against his throat at the same time. The point was, it wasn't very comfortable. The carriage driver had been in awkward silence ever since they both started threatening each other, and in Michael's case, that really sucked.

Really.

How the hell was he supposed to find out where he was now? It wasn't like he could just bark off questions at either of these guys. One had a knife against his throat, and the other was an asshole. Well, Michael supposed they were both assholes really. Michael stared into those blood red eyes as the carriage was pulled along by the horse.

"How about this, we both let go on the count of three." Michael said.

She nodded in response.

"Okay, one, two… Three!" Michael yelled.

They both retracted their hands, and the woman sheathed her dagger. She then rubbed her neck, which now had a red hand mark on it. Michael went to check his own throat, and his thoughts from earlier were confirmed. She cut him a little bit. Not enough to be fatal, but enough to be annoying.

"Fuckin' snatch." Michael said, putting his helmet back on.

Let's see her try to cut his throat now. The woman then did the same with her own helmet, and much to Michaels satisfaction, it covered those stupid eyes of hers.

"Dog." She said.

Michael laughed.

"That's funny coming from a bitch!" He yelled.

Michael couldn't quite place it, but he felt an aura of death begin to surround her.

"That's funny coming from a mongrel." She said, venom lacing her voice.

Michael clapped his hand with only his index and middle finger.

"Listen here red, you don't want to start an insult contest with me, I'll always win." Michael said.

She laughed for a moment before recollecting herself.

"Is that so? Making up for the areas that you lack in? Such as smarts?" She said.

That… bitch.

"I'm sorry, but do you know what quantum physics is? How about calculus?" Michael said.

Michael wished that he could see her face right now.

"…What?" She asked him.

Michael grinned under his helmet.

"Exactly. Now piss off." He said, giving her the finger once more.

She clenched her fists in anger.

"This cart isn't going fast enough!" She yelled.

The carriage driver then turned around.

"We're almost to Windhelm, calm down, it'll only be about ten minutes, after that, I don't want to see either of you ever again." He said.

Michael flipped him off as well.

"The feelings mutual prick." Michael said.

Fuck, for his first cart ride, it was pretty shitty.

He was glad that his armor was meant for a winter environment, if he wasn't wearing it, his nipples probably would have frozen off a while ago. Even when he was in that damn simulation, he didn't feel cold, but damn, this snow storm that they were in right now could probably rip a feral ghoul apart. How could either of these guys act like it was nothing? The snowflakes were all the size of quarters and they swirled around them like an out of control tornado. He could barely see in front of him, there was only one thing he could see, which, sadly enough, was red eyes.

How on earth did the weather just change like this?

The trio had been silent for the rest of the ride, Michael and red didn't dog each other on after he gave the carriage driver the finger. That gave Michael plenty of time to think. For nine minutes he pondered how the hell he got here, by the tenth minute, the carriage had pulled into a stable with other horses.

Damn, this guy was good at calculations!

There was another carriage sitting next to the stable, but it looked to be unoccupied, and one of the back wheels was busted. Michael climbed out of the carriage with red, and the carriage driver went on his way.

What a dick.

Michael saw a large stone bridge that led to the large wooded gates of a city. The town had large stone walls and towers along the same wall. Michael went to cross the bridge, there might be someone here who wasn't completely batshit crazy right? Michael noticed that red was walking alongside him. Michael furrowed his brow and felt his mouth open in anger, ready to unleash a flurry of profanity and insults.

"I need to go in here too you fool, don't look at me, and don't talk to me." She said.

"Whatever." Michael said.

They both walked in silence towards the gates, where they encountered two men wearing some raggedy looking clothing. It was a bluish outfit with a brown undertone, and the helmet had a spike on the top. They both wore swords at their hips, and were far beefier than most people in the wasteland.

"Welcome to Windhelm." The guard on the left side of the gate said.

He had that same accent the carriage driver did. The guards then opened the gates for Michael and red, then they entered the city. Michael looked around and tried to take it all in. These building didn't look destroyed, they looked as if they were never even touched by the bombs. That could be the case however, these houses could have been built from the ground up. Considering the resources around here, that was entirely possible.

Snow capped the roofs, and people walked the streets, none of them seemed to be affected by the blizzard. To Michael's right he could see two men harassing a woman with grey skin. Michael took a deep breath, and marched over to the trio.

"Damn dirty grey skins! I bet your working for the empire, we have ways of finding these things out you know. We'll know who's side your on you dirty elf." One man said.

One man wore ragged robes, and the other wore more substantial clothing. They both seemed to have an appreciation for facial hair that was for sure. Michael walked up right behind the two of them. Before he did anything, he observed the woman that they were harassing. She had eyes just as red as… well, Reds, and she had sharp facial features. Her ears were pointed, like a… Elf? What kind of Grognak the Barbarian shit was he dealing with here? Dragons? Lizard people? Elves? Michael needed to hit someone soon.

…

Venne looked to the man who had come with her into Windhelm. Why was he just standing there? She had assumed that he was going to help that poor woman, but of course she was wrong. Knowing him, he was just going to throw insults the poor girl's way along with those two. Looks like she had three people she needed to teach a lesson, not just two.

She began marching over to them but halted when he struck the man in ragged robes in the face. He then backhanded the other man, who staggered, but maintained his footing, unlike the man in ragged clothing, who was on his back.

"Oh so sorry. I have a disorder where I punch people at random. It happens the most around racist assholes like you. So get the fuck out of here before I introduce your face to the ground." He said.

Venne was… surprised. She honestly thought that he was just going to join in with them… huh. Maybe he isn't as bad as she thought he was.

The two men got up and left, bickering about each other not being able to take a swing.

"Thank you stranger, pray what is your name?" The dark elf asked him.

"The names Michael champ, your friendly neighborhood… eh… wanderer." Michael said.

Michael? She's never heard a name like that before. It's obviously foreign… but from where?

The dark elf put a hand on her chin and raised her eyebrows.

"An adventurer are you? Interesting. Here, I have some gold here I was going to use for extra food, but I think you should have it. Stop by candle hearth hall if you need a bed or a drink." She said.

That could be Venne's gold right now… She clenched her teeth and marched off in anger. She hoped she never saw him again.

…

"You mean hooch right? There's always a good time for hooch. Where's this place?" Michael asked the woman.

She pointed to the building just behind him.

"That's it right there, just head on inside." She said.

"Sweet! Booze is good, booze is great! Toodles!" Michael yelled, marching up the stairs to Candle hearth hall.

"Farewell, may we meet again." The elf said.

Michael waved her goodbye, then opened the door to the tavern. He stepped through the doorway to see a set of stairs leading to a second level right in front of him. Too his left was a counter with a few square wooden stools next to it. Leaning against the counter was a tall blonde woman who wore a thick yellow dress. Michael walked over to her and took a seat on the stool closest to the exit.

"What'll you have stranger?" She asked him.

"I don't fuckin' know, the one that gets you drunk." Michael responded.

The woman raised her eyebrow, but ducked under the counter, coming back up with a tall yellow bottle of liquid. She set it down in front of him and held out her hand.

"That'll be ten gold coins." She said.

Michael took off his helmet and set it down next to the bottle, then opened up the small sack of coins, pulling ten out and placing them in the woman's palm. She smiled, and put the gold under the counter. Michael looked at the bottle. What kind of hooch was he dealing with here? He picked it up and uncorked the lid.

He took a whiff of the liquid, then guzzled it. It was sweet, very sweet. Definitely better than the two hundred old booze in the wasteland, that was for damned sure. It barely burned on the way down, but having it burn at all was a good sign for him. He sat the glass back down on the counter and wiped what remained off of his lips, then re-inserted the lid back in place.

He couldn't drink it all in one place now. Michael looked to the woman who seemed to own the bar.

"So… is there stuff I can do for money around here?" Michael asked.

He needed a good amount of booze, and to get a good amount of booze, he needed gold. There was also the fact that Michael had no idea where the hell he was, maybe he could run into someone around here who was smart and could explain where he was. He didn't see any geologists around though.

"Here, some of the Jarls men came by and left this bounty for anyone to collect on, give it a read and if you're up for it, then do it. After your done head to the palace and hand it to the steward then you'll get your reward." She said.

She handed him a piece of parchment that had black ink writing on it. Michael put it down on the table before reading it.

"Okay thanks, by the way, do you know where I am? I got fuckin' drunk as shit last night and I don't know where this is." He said.

She crossed her arms.

"You a foreigner then huh? Well, this is the city of Windhelm." She said.

Michael nodded.

"Okay, but what about the country? Is this America?" Michael asked her.

She furrowed her brow in confusion.

"I don't know what America is, but this is Skyrim." She said.

Michael scratched his scalp.

"The fuck is a Skyrim? Whatever, what continents is this?" He asked her.

"This is Tamriel, are you really this daft?" She asked him.

"Daft? Fuck you!" He yelled, standing up from his seat.

She clenched her teeth in anger.

"Get out of my tavern you lowlife!" She yelled back.

Michael snickered.

"Fine, I'll go." He responded, putting on his helmet, grabbing his booze, and heading for the exit.

On the right of the door in front of him was a small round table with a vase on top of it. Michael flipped it over, hearing glass shatter against the ground, then he booked it out of there. Charging out of the door.

He wasn't in the damned mood for bullshit. Daft was it? Him? Fuckin' daft? He was sick of this town already, the alcohol was nice, but he wasn't going to get any info out of the locals around here. There was no continent anywhere on earth called Tamriel. He bee lined for the gate then went through, crossing the bridge and walking down the road through the snowstorm.

After he was a mile away, he realized something.

He forgot the damned bounty slip! Whatever, he still had beer. He would have taken off his helmet to drink it, but the wind was so powerful he felt like he might lose his face if he did. So Michael marched, holding beer bottle in hand, until he made it out of the storm. Snow still covered the landscape around him, pine trees holding their fair share of the white powdery substance. However, now there was no wind to rip off his face.

He walked off to the side of the road, and sat down against the base of a nearby pine tree. Michael removed his helmet and put it down next to him, then uncorked the lid to the bottle. He then began a nice long session of drinking. He lost track of time, it was just so relaxing to just sit down and drink this stuff.

It made him feel warmer than any other alcohol.

Once the bottle was empty, he sat it down in disappointment. He picked his helmet back up, and placed it back on his head. He closed his eyes for a minute, and tried to quell the dizzy spell that suddenly came upon him. When he opened his eyes, he saw three figures standing before him.

One was a large, wide green skinned man with tusk like teeth protruding from his jutting jaw, and pointed ears. The other was a tall skinny dark haired guy with fair skin and gray hair. The last one was another of the weird ass lizard men, except this one had red scales. They all wore leather armor with a belt that tightened the cuirass around their chest, and they wore a sword at their belt.

"You there, if you have any gold, fork it over. You don't want this to get ugly, now do you?" The green skin man asked him.

Michael smirked under his helmet.

"Damn. You are one _ugly_ son of a bitch you know that?" Michael said, snickering.

The green man drew his sword, and pointed it to him.

"I think I'll take that thing on your wrist there, hand it over, or I'll cut it off." He said.

The other two drew their swords as well, and Michael stood up. He twisted, and cracked his back, then walked up to the green man. Michael smirked under his helmet.

"This watch? Here, why don't you take a closer look?" He said, holding it up to the green man's face.

He squinted at the screen, then Michael quickly turned on the pip boy light. The green asshole closed his eyes at that moment then Michael took his chance. He struck the man hard in the jaw, then ripped the sword from his hands.

It was a solid foot of steel, double edged and deadly looking. Especially in the hands of a mass murderer. Michael's slasher smile surfaced, and he cut the green guy's head off, showering his power armor with blood. The two other bandits backed up a step, but then steeled themselves, charging at him. The dark haired guy slashed at his throat horizontally, but Michael ducked under the blow. Not that it would have mattered, he would have to hack at his neck quite a few times before he could break the thin metal around his arteries.

The lizard man slashed his chest plate, leaving a scratch on his armor, but otherwise doing no damage to him. Michael slashed at the lizards sword arm, cutting it clean off. The snow surrounding the creature soaked up its blood like a wet sponge. The lizard got on one knee, and held its stump in pain.

"Teehee, looks like you've been… Disarmed!" Michael yelled.

He turned to the other man, and blocked an overhanded blow from him, sparks flew when the blades made contact. Michael clenched his fist, and shot it forward, catching the dark haired bandit in the diaphragm. The man coughed up, and the grip on his sword faltered. Michael took this opportunity, and grabbed his forearm with his freehand, pulling it under his left armpit. He clenched the bandits arm close to his side.

He held the pommel of his blade over the bandits elbow, and raised it up.

"Say uncle." Michael said, his mad grin widening.

The dark haired asshole spat in his visor, and Michael lost his grin. He brought down the pommel on the man's elbow once, twice, then three times. Each blow resulting in a scream of pain and the sound of bone shattering. The raider dropped his sword after the first strike, and the extra two was for spitting in his visor.

He slammed his knee into his stomach, and let him drop to the ground, clutching his arm in pain. Michael wiped the spit off of his visor with his glove, and walked over to the lizard man, whose blood was still pouring out from his arm. Michael plunged his sword through its chest, seeing it fall backwards into the snow. Michael retracted, then walked back to the dark haired man, who was struggling to stand up.

He held his blade to the bandit's throat.

"You know." Michael started. "Today, I've killed a dragon, two lizard men, a pig face, and now, I'm going to kill you. Unless you tell me exactly what I want to know."

The man clenched his teeth in pain and fear, tears racing down his face.

"W-what do you want to know?" He squeaked out.

Michael grinned.

 **I'm done. I did it. Thank god. Leave a review or I'll have my people find you.**

 **._.**


	3. Chapter 3

**From the dephts (Did I spell that right?) I have returned to spread the good word of anger and hatred. Enjoy your shitty fanfiction.**

Venne loved her lifestyle.

Adventuring, dragon slaying, dungeon raiding, really, this lifestyle seemed to be made for her. Another plus to living this way was that everything seemed to wait on her. Venne didn't know why, but for some reason it felt like the world revolved around her. Was fate making everyone wait for her? If so, she was grateful.

She walked through the forest on her way to Mist watch. Venne had been told that the bandits there were capturing people and holding them for ransom. Venne was good at killing bandits, plus, there was always a chance that the ransom gold was just laying somewhere in the fort.

For some reason, she thought of the odd man she had met a couple of weeks ago near Windhelm. He was… disagreeable, according to the waitress who worked in candle hearth hall. Venne already knew that, and she had no idea where Michael had went.

Not that she cared. She'd probably kill him next time they met. Soon she found herself looking up at the stone archway that led into Mist watch.

She was shocked to see no archers patrolling the walls. Has this happened before? No guards. This was sketchy.

She walked through the archway and into the courtyard the morning sun reflecting off of the pools of blood in the courtyard. Venne's jaw dropped as she looked at the devastation around her.

The bodies of Orcs, Argonians, Dark elves, and Nords were strewn about the courtyard. Many were missing limbs and just as many were missing heads. A few others had deep gash wounds in their guts and throats.

She counted twenty bodies total.

Had the Jarl's men already taken care of them? There was no way, every guard in Skyrim was incompetent! It had to have been someone else that had caused this, someone on her level of killtastic.

She drew her new ebony sword, and charged toward the door that lead into the keep. After she entered, she found more bodies, blood, and the smell of soiled trousers. She checked the bodies and saw that their gold was already taken off of them. She grinded her teeth in irritation, whoever this was should've left at least a few pieces, have courtesy for your fellow adventurer.

Then again, she always took all the gold herself. Maybe this was irony? The definition of irony was still lost on her though. She didn't care for reading, just slashing and bashing things. That was fun. That didn't mean she was dumb though.

Eventually Venne passed an older man with a full beard muttering to himself in what seemed to be a two person wide storage closet. He was curled up in the fetal position in the corner, rocking back and forth.

"He killed her…" He mumbled.

Venne raised an eyebrow.

"Who killed who?" Venne asked.

"My wife… he killed her." He said.

The room stank like dog piss, she just noticed.

"Who killed your wife and why did he do it?" She questioned him, getting her sword ready just in case he went totally bonkers.

"I don't… I don't know his name. I asked him to find her… h-he did. She was the one running Mist watch all along." He said, attempting to hold back tears. "He said that she was being a bitch to him… so he cut off her head."

Venne cringed. This man's wife was running Mist watch, she got that much, and someone else came in here, met the man, and when he found his bandit chief wife, he killed her. Gotta say, she probably would've done the same. Venne rarely takes disrespect.

That's why Maven Black Briar is still trying to have her killed with all her lame brotherhood assassins.

Bitch shouldn't have talked down to her, now she's known as Maven Black Eye. At least to Venne she was. Oh well, it wasn't like that was going to come back to bite her later.

"Get fucked bitches!" She heard a slightly familiar voice yell from up the tower.

Whoever it was sounded _very_ drunk, and incredibly happy with themselves.

"That's him! That's the bastard who killed her!" The man screamed, jumping up and running past her and up the tower.

Venne gave a horrific smile beneath her helmet, and followed after him, there was no way she was going to miss this.

She saw him turn the corner at the first door on the right, then she ran up as well, the sounds of her armor clanking along the way.

"Fuc-fuc-fuc-fuck off!" The man yelled, seemingly trying to imitate a chicken.

"I'll kill you!" The old man yelled again.

Venne pressed her back against the wall, and peaked around the corner and felt her jaw drop.

It was him.

Michael.

And he appeared to be celebrating a recent victory over the corpses of his enemies, one of them being the head of an older lady with blonde hair and blue face paint.

"Sorry oldie, your wife was a total cunt to me, and come on dude, she was taking fuckin' hostages and killing people left n' right." Michael told him.

His armor was still the same as she remembered it, incredibly thick, and it covered him head to toe.

"She was still my wife! I loved her!" The old man yelled.

"And I loved killing her! Come on, don't you think that you'll love again man? I mean, before I chopped her head off with my sword of ultimate badassdom, she was telling me about how she hated her marriage." Michael said.

Venne raised an eyebrow, and the old man dropped to his knees.

"That isn't true! We loved each other!"

"Totally unrequited bro."

"But-"

"B-b-but nothing. She didn't love you dude, trust me. Here, she'll even say it herself." Michael said, bending over and picking up the decapitated head.

He placed his index finger on her bottom lip.

"I never loved you Harold! I want a divorce!" Michael said, trying his best to mimic an old lady while moving the heads lips up and down.

The old man grabbed his temples and screamed, tears flowing down his face.

"Please by the nine stop… Just kill me and be done with it you mad man…"

Michael shrugged, and grabbed a knife off a small brown round table next to him, dropping the head.

"You asked for it man. Sorry." Michael said.

Before Venne could react, the knife had already found itself buried in the old man's skull. Venne could not _believe_ what she just saw. That was a bit too brutal… even for her, the old man slumped back onto the ground, knife sticking out of his temple.

Michael sighed, and looked down, breathing in heavily.

"I'm glad that you're not alive to see me now dad." He muttered.

Venne then rounded the corner, and Michael sighed.

"Whoever you are, could you fuck off? I'm trying to talk to myself here, and you're ruining the moment."

"You are one sick twisted man you know that Michael?" She asked him.

"I'm sorry… do I know you from somewhere? Did I kill a friend or relative of yours? If I did, I was either drunk like I am now or they really deserved it." Michael laughed.

"It's me!" She yelled, slightly offended.

He took off his helmet and squinted his eyes at her.

"Sorry, your face looks like fucking metal. Could you lose the helmet?" He asked her.

Venne sheathed her sword and sighed in frustration as she removed her helmet, letting her hair fall to her shoulders.

He looked at her for a good long time before he said.

"What the fuck are you doing here Red?"

"I came here to stop the kidnappings. And to kill people." She said.

Michael chuckled.

"Already did it! Go away!" He yelled.

Venne ran at him and punched him in the jaw, spraying blood across the bodies below them. He looked back at her, his face contorted in a sick tooth filled grin. Blood ran down the sides of his mouth, but Michael paid it no mind. He pushed her away with one hand, sending her flying back against the stone wall across the room. She dropped her helmet as she did so, but Michael kicked it over to her.

She picked it up and placed it on her head, and drew her black blade. Michael raised his right index finger at her, and then put on his own helmet. He drew his own sword, which was also a black blade, though it wasn't ebony. The curves and grooves on Michael's sword were different than hers. An ancient nord blade? That was nothing against ebony.

Their blades clashed, sending sparks flying around them. The sound of her sword reverberating from the force of her much larger opponents blow made her ears ring with pain. They exchanged more blows, slashing at one another relentlessly.

Venne was much more skilled with a blade, that was for sure, but Michael had so much more raw power, each blow that was blocked damn near broke her arm. She had one thing that he didn't though.

" **Fus-"**

"The fuc-"

" **Ro Dah!"** Venne yelled.

Michael was sent flying against the stone wall as a wave of energy washed over him, causing the old wall to crack beneath the force of the shout. He struggled to stand back up, but Venne channeled as much Magicka as she could in her left hand, letting out a powerful bolt of lightning. Michael ducked his head under it just in time.

The bolt hit the wall, causing it to cave in and expose the room to the light of morning. Before Michael could stand to his full height, Venne shoulder tackled him out of the hole. They landed in the courtyard, but Michael took the whole fall. Both of their swords were gone, lost during their descent. Venne sat on his chest plate as she ripped off Michael's helmet, she looked down at those blue eyes before smashing the helmet into his forehead.

She saw that blood had begun to trickle down the point of impact, and Michael clenched his teeth in anger. His eyes barely looking dazed. She smacked it across his cheek, spraying blood across the dirt. Before Venne could repeat the process, he grabbed her arm wielding the helmet with his right hand, while his left shot forward, catching her throat.

He flipped them both around, and Michael was now choking the life out of her, leaning in on her throat with his right hand while pinning her left arm down with his. Venne could feel her eyes begin to bulge, and her lungs felt as if they were going to explode. She struggled of course, her muscles were burning with lack of oxygen, and her vision began to grow foggy.

She channeled flame magic into her free hand and slapped Michael in the face, singing his beard. The shock of the heat loosened his grip on her throat just enough to…

" **Fus Ro Dah!"** Venne yelled.

Michael flew up off of her, and she crawled away using her elbows. The blue eyed asshole landed on his back, sitting up immediately.

They both just stared at each other, sitting down in the dirt, each waiting for the other to make a move. Michael's cheek and forehead were beginning to swell, and his face was covered with blood. Venne could feel her throat begin to bruise. Michael then laughed like any other glory loving Nord.

"This is so _fun!_ " He yelled.

Venne shared the laughter. It was fun.

The laughter lasted a few more seconds before they went back to battling each other.

…

M'aiq was a simple Khajiit. M'aiq loved to wander, just like others of his kind. He saw so many interesting things. Today, he saw a man and woman beating each other like drums in Mist watch, surrounded by dead people. He had watched them for an hour as they kept hitting each other with various objects strewn around the courtyard. Bottles, decapitated arms, dirt in the eyes, they used seemingly everything around them.

M'aiq saw as the blonde woman took a right hook from a big armored man that armored man then took a left hook from the shorter woman.

They both stood frozen like that for a moment, before both finally fell down, either dead or unconscious. It was then that M'aiq recognized the woman that was fighting, yes, he had come across her many times in his travels.

Very interesting that one. He grabbed two red vials of potion from his apothecary satchel, and walked towards the two downed warriors. If he saved them both, they would both owe him.

M'aiq would take what they owed him now rather than later.

…

Michael's eyes fluttered open, seeing the nights sky shine above him with the twin moons that he still couldn't get accustomed too. Where was he? All he could remember was getting drunk and killing a bunch of people.

Like he did all the time.

But for some reason, he felt like this time he got his ass kicked. It was a feeling totally alien to him. He frowned as he realized that he was no longer wearing his armor. He sat up, allowing the fur blanket he wore to fall to his lap. He had pants on sure… but he didn't have his stealth suit on, or a shirt! It was fucking cold, and he was having a repeat of two weeks ago when he woke up on a magical alien planet not knowing what the fuck was going on.

He growled in irritation, but then looked to his right, seeing a campfire burning. He looked around some more, hoping to find his armor standing somewhere around the site, but there was nothing. The forest around him was full of green pine trees and was full of the sounds of wildlife.

The sounds of wildlife pissed him off.

"Shut the fuck up nature! I'm trying to fucking think!" Michael yelled.

Nature ignored him. Whatever, fuck nature.

He had a really bad headache, and not a hangover headache either. It was like someone was bashing his face in with a really hard thing. A _really_ hard thing.

He looked past the fire and saw the form of someone breathing beneath a bunch of blankets. He stood up slowly, and carefully, tip toeing over too where the person was. He reached over with his right hand, and pulled the covers back, seeing blonde hair.

Good god it couldn't be.

He pulled the blanket back more, and saw the face of Red.

He remembered everything now! He had gotten into the most awesome fight of his life with this chick. She could do magic, she could yell so loud it broke walls, and that headache was from getting his head smashed in by his own helmet!

Michael grinned madly.

He knew just what to do now, but it would take a lot of preparation, or not. First, he needed to find his armor. Michael stood up, and began wandering the forest, the cold biting at his exposed skin. After an hour of searching, he gave up. His armor was long gone, and Michael was fucking pissed. Not even Black hawk was with him anymore!

"This sucks!" He yelled.

Michael would find his gun, his armor, and his fucking stealth suit if it was the last thing he did. But there was one thing he could do before he tore his way through Skyrim on a murderous rampage for his stuff.

Teeheehee…

…

Venne's eyes fluttered open, and she was blinded by the morning sun. Her muscles ached and she felt irritated. Michael. She was bested by that… insufferable… whatever. All she cared about was how good the fight was. She loved to fight, to dodge a blow then deliver one, to feel the rush of adrenaline when your life was in danger, there was nothing like it.

There was one question that kept pestering her though, why was she still alive? Michael didn't seem to be the kind of man to have mercy on an enemy. He did stab an unarmed old man in the face after all. Though he did ask for it, quite literally, Venne felt as if Michael was too cruel to him.

Oh well. The old man was dead and gone now, along with his bandit wife, no use whining about it. She sat up and stretched her arms upwards, letting out a yawn. She looked down at her body and noticed that she wasn't wearing her armor anymore, just some rags, like the ones she had on when she got caught by the Empire.

"Water…" She heard Michael whisper behind her.

She turned to the source of the voice and was assaulted by a bucket of water.

"Splash! Take that fuck nugget teehee!"

The water splashed across her face, waking her up immediately. She ground her teeth in fury, before scrambling up to her feet. Michael laughed at her, dropping the bucket and pointing.

"You should see your fuckin' face!" He said. "God, do you know how long it took me to find this fucking bucket? A fuck it, you wouldn't care. Hey that rhymed!"

"I'm going to kill you!" She yelled, chasing after him.

Michael teehee'd the whole way as Venne chased him around the campsite in a circle.

That was when he grabbed two other water filled buckets next to the dead campfire. He went to throw the contents at her, but while the water was midflight…

" **Fus!"** She yelled.

The force of the shout was just enough to make the water splash against him instead. His jaw dropped in shock, and he no longer looked pleased.

"Not cool." He said.

"It's water. Water is always cool fool. Oh wait, I think that _rhymed."_ She spoke, her voice full of venom.

"Whatever. I'm done. I've gotta go get my stuff from whoever took it. Ima torture em'" Michael said.

Venne realized that whoever took Michael's gear must've taken hers as well, but how would he know who took it? How would she know? Well, she could always just make new stuff in case she couldn't find her old gear, but she heavily doubted that Michael could even forge a nail, let alone a set of armor.

"Well, I'm leaving now, gotta find that asshole. If we meet again, I'll beat your ass." Michael said.

Venne smirked.

"Please, if anyones ass is going to be beaten, it's yours, see you on the flip side loser." She said.

Michael extended his middle finger, and turned his back to her, walking into the forest.

 **I see all your porn. Leave a review or I'll tell all your family and friends that you're into... well, you know what it is.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm back daddy, did you miss me?**

Michael whistled a tune as he walked through the forest. It had been two days since his gear got stolen off of his back, and he was starting to miss his T-51baby. Wandering aimlessly through the woods was fun and all, but it had been a while since he last had been to a town. Honestly, he's ever only been inside of Windhelm.

After he found a road, he followed it to the nearest hostile fortress. Him being totally and completely disarmed and without armor, he snuck inside of the fort at night. After one snapped neck, he was wearing a set of crude sleeveless iron armor. After a slit throat and torn open spinal cord, he had a new steel sword. After he found those things, he killed every bandit there.

Then he spent the night on the blood stained bed of a bandit chief that no longer needed it. Headless people didn't need to sleep. Then he left, and found himself wandering the humid forest of Falkreath or whatever the fuck place this was called. His sword was at his belt, ready to be drawn at any moment to murder or maim anything that looked at him in a way that made him just the _slightest_ bit angry.

The morning sun shone through the pine tree's branches, and Michael took a deep breath. Nature smelled nice. By nice, he of course meant that it lacked the scent of rot, dust, and decay that accompanied the wasteland. Skyrim was a lot more hospitable than the Capital wasteland ever was, but shit still tried to kill him all the time.

Michael was totally fine with that.

Killing was the sweetest thing that there ever was. He still hadn't finished his murderous rampage yet. His way of thinking was that, if he killed enough bad people, karma would bring his armor back to him. Then he cringed with the realization that Karma was complete and total bullshit. He'd just murder everything that would try and murder him. Michael would raid the places of the said people he would murder, and one day, he should find his armor again.

Hopefully.

Well, it wasn't really murder if he was attacked first, but he liked the term 'murder' more. Michael saw as a large, gray colored furry dog ran up to him. Michael halted in his tracks, and stared the dog in its yellow eyes. It looked him up and down, as if it were evaluating him for something. Michael raised an eyebrow at the dog, and the beast seemingly smiled.

"You're exactly who I was looking for!" A voice said.

Michael drew his sword, and looked around frantically, trying to find the source of the voice.

"Down here? I'm the dog!" The hound yelled.

Michaels jaw was held agape as he looked at the dog.

"No fuckin' way! Piss off insanity! I'm not ready for you yet!" Michael yelled.

"This is a world where there are walking and talking cat people! And you find me surprising?" The dog announced.

Its words did not seem to come from its mouth; it seemed to be echoing throughout his mind.

"Cat people? What the fuck are you talkin' abou-"Michael started.

He then remembered how after his first week here, he ripped the tail off of an actual cat man. However, he had chalked that up to a drunken dream, rather than a drunken rampage. The bandits around Skyrim always had booze hidden somewhere in their forts and camps. In other words, there was plenty of incentive for him to go after them. That was on top of more weapons and gold.

"Oh… dude. Anyway, why the hell can you talk? Are there other talking dogs around here? Because I wanna eat em'." Michael said, pointing to the dog.

"Nope, not that I know of. Try to refrain from eating me okay?" The dog said. "My name is Barbas, and I can talk because I'm not your ordinary dog."

Michael snickered.

"No shit you're not an ordinary fuckin' dog! You don't need to tell me that dude. I could pick that up from context clues. Like the fact that you're fucking TALKING!" Michael shouted.

"That's understandable. Can you help me?" Barbas asked him.

"Piss off mutt; I have faces to smash and a set of armor to get back." Michael sneered.

"My master can help you find your armor, you just need to take me back to him and he will probably tell you." Barbas reasoned.

Michael narrowed his eyes at the dog.

"You know what? Fuck it. Where is your master?" Michael asked.

…

Venne rushed through the forest, hearing the beating wings of the blood dragon above her. She hated having to wait for the damned beast to land whenever she fought one. Venne could use magic and archery to try and take the beast down, but that was tedious. It was easier to wait for it to land so she could bash its face in with the Mace of Molag Bal. She'd gotten this baby yesterday, and it hadn't failed her since.

She had to lure some old guy who worshipped… Boethia? Was that it? No matter. She had to get him to go into the basement of an old crumbling dwarven house. The Daedric prince trapped him between a bunch of jagged black spikes, and Venne got to bash his skull in with the mace.

Was it bad that she genuinely enjoyed the face bashing bit?

Oh well. The mace was the most demonic looking weapon she had ever laid eyes upon. It had the visage of Molag Bal's face etched into its metal on all three sides. It's sharp, jagged teeth looking fierce. Three metal protrusions surrounded the mouth of the etchings, making the mouths look like they had mandibles. Above that, were three sharp spikes that protruded out of the side of it, with one more spike sticking out of the top. The hilt was also a spike, meaning that no matter what way she held it, she could hurt somebody. It was a weapon she could respect, especially since it could absorb souls.

Molag Bal may not be the nicest of Daedric Princes, but who the hell cared? She had a vicious looking mace that could bash in anyone's face. Maybe even Michaels. That bastard won't be so smug once she traps him in one of her black soul gems.

She had long since replaced the armor she had lost with a set of steel plate armor that Euorland had forged. It was exactly the same in every aspect, and covered her head to toe. That didn't mean that she still didn't want her old gear back of course, she was still going to murder whoever took it. Unless Michael murdered them first of course.

Venne turned her head to the dragon as it descended down towards her.

" **FUS RO DAH!"** She shouted, the wave washing over its right wing.

The dragon was knocked off balance from the surprise of the shout, and crashed to the earth just a few feet away from Venne with its back to the ground. Venne charged forward with her mace and violently smashed it into the dragon's wing over and over again, to the point where it would never be able to fly during this fight again.

The dragon flipped over, leaning on its uninjured wing, and it breathed fire at her. She raised her shield up, blocking most of the heat that washed over her. She rushed forwards closer to the beast's mouth, and jammed the shield into its maw. She raised up her mace, and swung down on top of the dragons head. The top part of the shield was pointed, which meant that she could enact her plan much easier.

She slammed down on the head again, and again, each strike driving the shield further and further up its snout. Dragon bone was hard to pierce, but thankfully she was proficient at that. Venne smashed down one final time with all her might, causing the top of the shield to stick out of the top of the dragon's snout.

It would have roared in pain if it could. She freed her left hand from the leather straps of the shield, and went to work, smashing in the rest of the dragons face. Using both of her hands, she leaned her weight in with every single strike, cracking more bone and puncturing more skin. Soon the dragon's movement began to wane, and it began to move much more sluggishly. She hopped atop its neck, and smashed down on its skull a final time. One of the spikes punctured its brain, and the dragon ceased fighting.

She jumped off of the corpse, and took in a deep breath. The soul of the dragon began to pour into her, burning away the flesh of its former owner. Venne grinned once it was done and over with, and cracked her knuckles. She didn't really feel like ripping the shield out of its jaw, so she decided to leave it. There were thousands of others just like it after all, she just had to kill a guy and take his.

She looked around at the pine trees that surrounded her, a few had been knocked down by the dragon's crash landing, and one was burning due to the fire breath. She gathered up magical energy in her left hand, and cast a frost spell to put out the fire. Once that was done, she let out a sigh. Killing dragons was starting to get… easy.

She craved a challenge. Venne wasn't saying that dragons weren't particularly weak, but they used to be a foe that she could look forward to when she first started out. Now they were just kind of a chore. Venne hated chores. She did admit that she liked her handy work with this one though. She walked a few miles away from the skeleton, just wandering around Falkreath hold. She sighed, and was about to call it a day as nothing interesting had happened since the battle she had with the dragon.

"Hold there Red! I am incredibly charming now!" She heard a familiar voice yell.

She turned her head, and saw a man standing across from her, between the trees. The voice belonged to Michael, of that she had no doubt. He wore the standard iron armor with a steel sword at his belt, but the helmet he wore was black. It had two long horns that curved at the end, and it had a face etched into well… the face. Other markings were all over it, and for some reason… Michael's voice was pleasing to hear.

"How did you know it was me?" Venne asked.

"Actually I just guessed." Michael said. "Look at this cool thing I got. It was from a Daedric Prince douche."

Venne's eyes lit up beneath her helmet, and she held up her mace.

"I got this from a Daedric Prince too! What does yours do?" Venne asked, tilting her head in question.

Odd… she thought for sure that they would be trying to kill each other, but here they were, talking about their new goodies.

"Mine makes me more charming. Like I fuckin' said. I can get shit for cheap with this thing. What about yours?" Michael asked. "I would love to smash someone's face in with that baby."

"It steals souls." Venne said.

Michael slumped.

"Trade me." He said.

Venne tilted her head.

"Are you kidding me? Hell no!" Venne yelled.

Michael laughed maniacally.

"My helmet of charmingness compels you to give me the soul sucking fucking mace!" Michael yelled.

"It doesn't compel me to do a damn thing. What are you doing here anyway?" Venne asked him.

"Killin' stuff. You?" He asked.

"Same." She replied.

"Oh my god! Twinsies! Say, there's this neat bandit camp that I've been meaning to destroy just up the road. Wanna kill a few people with me? The mask compels you remember?" Michael told her.

Venne actually smiled, she'd love to go kill some bandits, she hadn't seen any all day.

"Why… I think that the helmets magic is working. I will go kill bandits with you." She said.

"You also have to give me the mace." Michael said.

"No amount of helmet magic is going to make that happen." Venne said.

Michael slumped.

"Well fuck me bloody with a stick. Anyway, it's just up here, follow me!" Michael shouted.

She nodded, and followed the mad man through the forest, eventually coming across the bandit camp Michael was telling her about. Several Nords shuffled about, she spotted a group of them playing cards around a table. A few others were asleep in their sleeping bags. Venne scanned the small camp completely, seeing five tents, and counting at least ten bandits.

"Whoever gets the most kills wins." Michael whispered. "You'd better fuckin' believe that I won't lose."

Venne scoffed.

"We'll see about that guttersnipe." Venne told him.

Michael let out a small laugh.

"Okay, so are we gonna fuckin' sneak in or just go in guns- I mean swords blazing?" Michael asked.

As if to answer his question, Venne drew her mace, and charged forwards. Michael scrambled up after her.

…

Michael didn't know why he was being so nice to the chick that damn near killed him. He was just in a really good mood today for some reason he guessed. Clavicus Vile didn't show him where his armor was, like Barbas had said he would, but he did give him this sick helmet. He would have gotten a sick looking battle axe too if he killed Barbas, but he kind of liked the little shit so he let him live. That was also when he discovered the existence of vampires, and that was the same day he decided he hated vampires.

Michael's blood belonged in Michael's body, not in some cock sucking vampires gut.

Venne smashed her mace into the back of one guy's head, causing his face to smack into the wooden table, and causing everyone to drop their cards. Blood sprayed all over the dead man's buddies, and Michael saw as a purple ethereal energy flowed out of the bandit and into the mace.

Fuck he wanted it.

He charged past a guy, slashing his throat open before he could even draw his weapon, dropping him to the ground. Venne blocked one guy's sword, and grabbed his face, melting it with her weird fire magic. He screamed out in pain and dropped to the ground, rolling around in the dirt. Michael stabbed one of the sleeping guys in the throat, and felt a sword glance off of his armor. He quickly turned, and drove an elbow into his attackers diaphragm. With the wind knocked from his body, Michael quickly stabbed him through the throat, withdrawing the blade as quick as it had entered.

Venne set another guy on fire, flames exiting her hand like a flamethrower. In his short time here, he had learned that a lot of people know magic. A LOT. He had put it on his bucket list to figure out how to do it, but he hadn't gotten around to it yet. The two of them made short work of the remainder, and after all of their bodies had stopped moving, Michael held up his hand.

"High five!" He yelled.

Venne tilted her head, but then smacked his hand with her own.

"Alright, on the count of three, say how many you killed, whoever got the most gets bragging rights." Michael said.

Venne nodded.

"One." Michael started.

"Two." Venne said.

"Three!" They both shouted.

"Five!" They both yelled at the same time.

They remained silent for a long while. Then Venne raised her mace at Michael.

"I'm going to up it to six now!" She shouted, charging at him.

Michael smirked under his helmet, redrawing his sword.

"Me too you skeeze!" He shouted, charging to meet her.

She swung her mace in a downwards arc, and Michael side stepped it, slashing across her midsection. The force of the blow staggered her, but it did not puncture her armor. This armor was good shit; he made a mental note to get himself a set after he killed her. He slashed at her throat, but she quickly ducked her head under the strike. She swung her mace again, this one finding purchase in his left arm. One of the spikes on the end of the club struck his bone, and for some reason, Michael felt short of breath.

He dropped his sword, and grabbed her mace holding wrist, forcing the weapon out of his arm. They both grunted with the effort, and Michael reared his head back, slamming it into Venne's helmet. The horns of his helmet did most of the work, and the sound of metal hitting metal reverberated through the air.

Venne was stunned for a moment, but then kicked Michael in the ribs. He cringed with pain when he felt one of them shatter, and clenched his teeth. He placed another hand on Venne's elbow, and leaned his weight into the force he applied. He shattered her elbow at a ninety degree angle, and she screamed out in pain, dropping her mace to their feet.

" **FUS RO DAH!"** She shouted, a wave of energy hitting his face point blank.

The force of the shout was so great, that he felt his eardrums explode, and he was sent flying into a tree. The pain was incredible, and he could no longer hear a single thing. Michael screamed in pain, and he willed himself to stand, only barely being able to do so. Venne was kneeling, holding her shattered arm. Michael reached down to his belt, and brought a red vial up to his lips, uncorking the lid.

He downed the contents in one large gulp, and the pain in his ears subsided, and his ability to hear had returned. Michael felt his shattered rib knit itself back together, along with the wound on his arm and he took a deep breath. He could feel the blood pouring out of his ears, and he shook his head. Venne held an orb of golden energy in her left hand, and that same energy washed over her. Michael watched as she stood back up, and shook her arm that he was certain that he had shattered.

He guessed that there must have been healing magic as well. Another thing to add to his damned bucket list of shit he needed to figure out how to do. He ran forward, and tackled her to the ground. As soon as they hit the dirt Michael felt like he was being shocked, and his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his skull. More magic bullshit. He grabbed her hands, and forced them to the dirt. They were crackling with electricity, and it coursed through the air. He lifted up his left leg, and placed it on the left side of her hip, keeping her legs in place.

He passed her guard, and found himself sitting on her stomach. Michael led both of her hands over to the top of her head, and wrapped his right hand around both of her wrists. With Venne completely pinned, he wrapped his left hand around her neck and squeezed.

"I'll make sure to give your mace a good home." He said, grinning like a mad man beneath his helmet.

Venne gagged, and gasped for air. Michael leaned in with his weight completely on his left arm. Suddenly he felt Venne kick both of her legs up from beneath him, and both of her legs had found themselves on his shoulders after they passed under his armpits. She pushed with her legs, and Michael's arms lost their grip.

He felt his head hit the ground, and looked up to see Venne over top of him, between his legs. Michael widened his eyes when he saw that a spike of ice was beginning to form in her right hand, and he put up his left hand instinctively when she launched it.

The ice spike shot through the palm of his hand, hitting the ground just next to his head. Michael clenched his teeth as the hole in his hand exploded with both blood and pain. He screamed, and scrambled out from beneath her, standing up as soon as he could. They both faced each other, and Michael held his injured hand.

"Fuckin' bullshit dude. I can't do magic." He complained.

Venne pointed at him.

"Then read a tome you nit wit!" She shouted.

Michael and Venne remained silent for a long while, until Michael began to laugh. Venne tilted her head.

"What is _wrong_ with us?" He laughed. "Just a minute ago we were killing bandits together, now we're trying to kill each other."

Venne giggled.

"Seems just fine to me. This is the most fun I've had all day." She said.

Michael nodded.

"Yeah me too. Want to call it quits for today and fight another time? I wanna learn how to do magic." Michael said, flashing a thumbs up.

Venne looked down at his injured hand, and nodded.

"Yeah that sounds good, you'll be more challenging that way. Anyhow, let me heal that up for you. Wouldn't want something killing you just because you're injured." Venne told him.

Michael held his hand out, and Venne approached him, extending her right hand. Golden energy flowed out of Venne and into Michael, and he could both feel and see the wound close up. There wasn't even a scar after a minute of that healing stuff.

"A girl after my own heart." Michael said.

"I just want to kill you when you're at your best. That way I can rip that shiny helmet clean off of your head without feeling a morsel of guilt." Venne explained.

"Fuckin' whatever. That mace is mine after I bash your face in with it." Michael told her. "Anyway, I'm going to go loot those bodies and get my sword, see ya later skank."

"Goodbye asshole." She said.

 **Leave a review or I will cut you. Also, I'm doing responses to reviews starting this chapter. Leave a review here, and I'll respond to it next chapter. Now go, leave a review in the name of our Lord and Savior Harambe.**


	5. Chapter 5

Michael smashed his forehead against the green scaled argonians head three times, and then let up, taking a deep breath as he felt the lizard man's blood cake his brow. The cave they were in was lit only by torchlight that casted ominous shadows on the rocks around them. Several mangled and destroyed corpses surrounded the two of them, blood pooling and trickling off of the stone into the small stream of water by his feet. The water eventually lead to a miniature waterfall outside, meaning that people walking along it would likely see the blood just flowing along the current.

Michael thought that was awesome, it would definitely turn some fuckin' heads.

The argonian's head lolled to and fro in his grasp, and Michael smashed it into a nearby boulder, splattering lizard brains all over it, and by extent Michael's armor. It had been a whole month now since he had seen Venne, but he had definitely been hearing about her. Michael wiped the blood from his brow and took a deep breath, raising his right hand. A yellow glow almost lit up the dark areas of the cave as Michael let the magic wash over him, stitching his wounds and fractured bones back together.

The gold colored armor he had picked up two weeks ago was glowing in the darkness of the cave as a result, which made it appears even more… well, yellow? Michael wasn't an expert on color damn it. It was a nice suit of metal though. He heard some guard dude comment on it as Michael was walking by, apparently it was Dwarven armor. Michael frowned when he heard that. If it was Dwarven wouldn't the armor be half of Michael's size?

Maybe Dwarves in this world weren't actually short? They were just normal sized and everyone called them Dwarves anyway? And where the hell were the Dwarves anyway? He hadn't seen any of them anywhere. Whatever, he would read a book on it later when he got bored.

He did find it in some ancient stone ruins with a bunch of mechanical robot fuckers that tried to kill him. Like the robots back in the wasteland, he deconstructed them. There was one of these robots though that was ten feet tall and breathed hot steam in his face, that shit was really uncalled for. It was still worth it though, because his armor looked _badass_. Sure, when he got his T-51b baby back, he would ditch this set in a second, but it had its charms.

He liked the hunk of metal that stuck out of the top like a Spartans plume, and he liked how there was a face etched into the front of the helmet. It looked like it was screaming at whoever it was looking at, which looked hilarious to Michael, but terrifying to his enemies. He had laid the helmet down to the side so he could head butt the lizard man the old fashioned way, so he leant over, and picked it up. He slid it back over his head, and let out a satisfied breath. It was fully plated metal that was stronger than most steel, he was happy with it. He may not have worn Clavicus Vile's helmet all the time anymore, but he kept it tied at his belt, in case he needed to buy something. He was just so much more charming with it on.

He liked Skyrim; it was a place that could appreciate both his beard, and his badassery. Fuck the Wasteland, there was less of a chance of him getting cancer here anyway. The only thing that pissed him off about accepting his new home was the fact that he no longer had his guns. That feeling was mitigated however by the fact that Michael could now heal himself; shoot lighting from his hands, and burn people alive. Learning magic was way easier than he thought it would be, all he had to do was find a book, open it, and read it for a little bit; then low and behold he had a new spell in his arsenal. Michael's life was so much simpler now that he could fry some fuckers face off at will. The only problem was that sometimes he would be roasting someone, and the flames would just stop pouring out of his hands, like he had just run out of juice or something. If he waited a minute he could do it again, but it ruined extended bandit roasting.

Michael coughed, and then looked around again, seeing nothing else really worth while sitting around the cave. There were bags of gold coins on a wooden table, and Michael was sure they had a few Septims to spare on their bodies. He picked through everything remaining in the narrow cave, and came up with around two hundred more gold pieces. Michael placed them in his leather man bag that hung from his shoulder by a strap. It was not a purse, it was a man bag. One of the manliest bags of all time.

He also had a larger bag strapped to his back, full of all sorts of pilfered weapons and armor. It weighed him down, sure, but Michael was getting a workout in at least. Then again, his daily routine was nothing but a workout, delve into a cave or bandit hive etc. kill everything inside with a fuck ton of rage and cursing, get drunk, fall asleep, repeat the next day. He hoped he didn't run out of things to actually delve into.

That would suck.

What was he thinking about earlier…?

Oh yeah, Venne.

He had heard that she killed some ancient evil dragon guy named Alduin that was prophesied to eat the world. Apparently she was destined to do it, but Michael wanted in on some of that action, it wasn't fair that he was left out. He would tell that to her face the next time they met and eventually fought. Michael took his haul, and sauntered outside, the sunlight reflecting off of his armor. He took a deep breath, and shook his hands out.

It was a long ass jog to Whiterun from here, but he was a master jogger. Michael put one foot in front of the other as he crossed the open fields of the hold. Crushing long grass and such along the way. He smashed a wolfs face in along the way because it tried to kill him, and skinned it, placing the pelt in his bag. After that, he continued on his run. He was pretty sure that this was a part of Whiterun hold, especially since he could see the walled off city on the horizon.

Whiterun was a nice little town; it kind of reminded him of Megaton, just without the death bomb sitting in the center. Apparently Venne goes there all the time, but the life of an adventurer consistently draws her away, as it does to Michael, so they never ran into each other there as a result. He was sure that they would, yeah, but he doubted that she would start something with all of the guards around. Those guys were fucking annoying, good god you kill a chicken by accident when you meant to hit a bandit, you were public fucking enemy number one.

He continued his jog, the massive bag on his back shifting with every step. Michael had a LOT of shit to sell today. If he made it to Whiterun he could probably sell all the weapons n' armor to Adrianne. She always bought his shit. He finally reached the wooden gates of the city after reaching the cobbled stone rode, and the two guards nodded to him respectfully.

Michael nodded back, and pushed the gates open. Those two guards were okay, they never spoke to Michael, but they must have realized how badass he was. Probably. The sun was still high in the sky; his pip boy said that it was four pm, so the smith should still be open. Michael crossed the stone bridge way, hearing the water rushing beneath it. He saw Adrianne grinding a sword against her grindstone, her foot pushing on the pedal and making the round rock spin quickly. Michael walked up behind her, and sat the bag down on the ground with an audible thud.

Adrianne looked behind her for a moment, and widened her eyes upon seeing the bag. She ceased grinding, and stood up, placing the blade on the wooden seat of the grindstone. She walked up in front of the bag, and opened it up. She pulled out several of Michael's pilfered weapons and armor, inspecting them for dents or rust. Many of them were a little worse for wear, but if you really needed to shiv someone with a rusty dagger you could.

She rose an eyebrow at Michael after inspecting everything he had brought back, and sighed.

"I suppose today I can give you… five hundred for everything." She said.

That wasn't _too_ bad he guessed, he was honestly expecting a lot less. He hadn't even put the helmet on yet.

"Yeah that fuckin' works." Michael told her. "Could ya pound the dents out of this thing by the way?" He said, patting the palm of his hand against his armor.

Adrianne placed a hand on her chin.

"That'll be about… fifty gold, so I'll just give you four hundred and fifty and we'll call it square." She told him.

Michael shrugged.

"Works for me, could ya detail it too? You know, cleaning the dirt n' shit off of it?" Michael asked her.

Adrianne paused.

"That'll be twenty five extra." She told him.

Michael once again shrugged.

"Yeah sure. By the way, the fuck do you do with all of these old grimy weapons anyhow? Ya can't sell em. So do you just clean them off, pound out all of the dents, and re-sell them?" Michael asked her.

Adrianne nodded.

"Yeah I do that sometimes with the weapons that can be saved, but for the forsaken ones, I just melt them down for spare metal." She said. "My husband in the shop usually does that part; he's good with the smelter."

"How is his beard by the way?" Michael asked the smith.

"Oh its fine, he still insists that his is more 'glorious' than yours. I don't understand you two." Adrianne said.

Michael removed his helmet.

"You wouldn't understand unless you had a beard. When two bearded men enter a room together, they always size up the other beard, check how well fuckin' maintained it is, how long it is, how form fitting it is and the works. Sure, his beard _is_ bigger than mine, but mine fits my face like a glove, it doesn't need to reach my chest to be epic." Michael told her, gesturing with his hands towards his face.

They both continued small talk like that for about ten minutes, before they finally finished the transaction. Michael removed his armor, and dusted off the clothes beneath, leaving the set on her workbench. Michael was an armor critic when it came to how cool it looked, but when it came to regular clothes, he could care less. He wore a tight fitting long sleeved brown shirt, with matching trousers to go along with it that ended with brown boots on his feet. He killed a guy and stole this off of him when he realized that he could wear it better. As a result, there was a tear in the center of the shirt on both the front end and the back end. He did get the blood washed off, but he never really cared enough to stitch the small tear shut.

He asked Adrianne if he could leave his bag there while he grabbed a drink, and she said yes. With that, Michael headed towards the Bannered Mare. Today was a good day.

"Aye there Michael." Jon Battleborn said, waving at the Lone Wanderer. "Off to drink the good stuff yes?"

Jon was pretty cool; he's never done anything to piss Michael off. His blonde hair and beard were tied together in braids, which wasn't usually how he kept his hair, but what did Michael care?

"You fuckin' know it Battleboy." Michael confirmed, waving back.

Jon scoffed.

"More like Battleman, with a beard like this, I could never be called a boy. That tiny beard of yours is sad by comparison." Jon told him.

Michael clenched his teeth. He took it back; Jon did piss him off sometimes. The Lone Wanderer turned around, and pointed his finger at the nord.

"My beard is just fine the way it is! You don't know fuckin' shit! Look at the way it flows!" Michael shouted, stroking his beard. "Mine doesn't look like a braided goats Jon!"

Jon gasped.

"You dare." Jon told him.

Michael nodded.

"Oh I fuckin' dare." He confirmed.

The two of them remained silent for a moment, before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. They traded insults for a few minutes before Michael said goodbye, continuing his way to the Bannered Mare. He opened the wooden door to the tavern, and the smell of mead flooded his nose. Good shit. Mikael played his lute behind the rectangular stone fire pit, which casted shadows on everything around it.

Michael noticed that Mikael had a few good bruises on his face and a black eye. Must have gotten his ass kicked while Michael was away. That's what he got for having a name that sounded similar to Michaels. He received a few nods of acknowledgment from the other patrons, and Michael nodded back. He went up to the bar to the right of the fire pit, and let out a yawn.

"The usual Michael?" Hulda asked, her graying hair bouncing as she leaned down on the wooden counter top.

"Yeah, some of that mead please." Michael asked her.

A lot of these people weren't bad, so Michael didn't feel the need to be rude to them. Hulda was really nice to him especially, he would come in as a regular, and she would prepare meals for him after he stayed a night. She told him that Michael reminded her of her son, who had moved to Cyrodill, a country that bordered Skyrim. As a result, she sometimes doted on him like… well a mother. Michael's mother died when he was born, so he had no idea what it was like to have one, however, speaking with Hulda gave him a general idea of what 'mom' conversations were like.

"You look pale." She told him. "You make sure to get some rest tonight okay?"

Michael had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"Nah Hulda, I'm just naturally fuckin' pale-"He started.

"Language." She told him.

Michael scoffed, and Hulda laughed, pulling a bottle up from under the counter. Michael put down ten gold coins, which Hulda took, placing them in her own coin purse. Michael uncorked the bottle, and drank it, the sweet drink barely burning his throat. Sure, it didn't burn, but it tasted really damned good. It was called… Black briar mead? Something like that. There was another brand of mead from a place down the road from Whiterun, but that one didn't really pack as much of a punch as this stuff.

He sat there for another twenty minutes, slowly drinking the bottle. He really liked this tavern, it was really relaxing. He heard someone take a seat next to him, and he lazily looked up to see who sat down. He nearly fell out of his seat when he saw who it was.

Venne widened her red eyes at him upon seeing his face and gasped. They both stood up and began pointing at each other.

"You!" They both shouted at the top of their lungs.

Venne's blond hair had grown down past her shoulders, and she wasn't actually wearing any armor today. Instead she wore a form fitting green gold belted tunic. The skirt part of it reached down to her upper thigh, but no flesh was visible as she wore blue trousers under it which ended in brown buckled shoes.

The entire tavern went silent, and Mikael flinched with every movement that Venne made.

"What are _you_ doing here Michael!?" She shouted.

Michael looked down to her shoes, and then back up to her read eyes, scowling all the while.

"What am I doing here? What the fuck are _you_ doing here? You're supposed to be adventuring or somethin' right now!" Michael shouted at her.

"I'm taking a break!" She shouted. "I'm gonna have tomorrow off!"

They both remained silent, and narrowed their eyes at each other. Michael quickly turned his head towards the counter, and he grinned.

"Betcha I can drink more that your pansy ass could!" Michael shouted.

Venne bared her teeth like a rabid wolf.

"You're joking right? A pitiful milk drinker like you isn't even worth my time!" She shouted at him.

Michael crossed his arms and smirked.

"Then outdrink me you dumb bitch!" He shouted back. "I outdrank Amata and I can outdrink you too!"

They both took their seats once more, and slammed their fists against the counter.

"Two bottles!" Venne shouted, causing Hulda to narrow her eyes at the blonde. "Please!" She added.

Hulda sighed, and pulled out two bottles of mead, handing one to each of them. The two adventurers locked eyes again, and to onlookers it appeared like lightning was flashing between their gaze. They both gripped the head of the bottles, and uncorked them, slamming down the alcohol. They both finished chugging at the same time. Michael and Venne both wiped their mouths.

"Easy!" Venne shouted. "You already look like your about to tip over!"

Michael frowned.

"Do not you kike!" Michael shouted. "Besides you're starting with a fuckin' advantage okay! I already drank a bottle before your stupid ass even showed up!"

Venne narrowed her red eyes at him again.

"Give me two bottles this time! And only give him one!" Venne shouted to Hulda, who frowned at the blonde. "Please madam!" She quickly added.

Hulda groaned, and pulled out three more bottles, handing two to Venne and one more to Michael. Again they both chugged the bottles, and set them down again. They both breathed heavily.

"Your eye ish… starting to be all fuckin' like a stroke or something." Michael muttered, pointing at Venne's left eye, which was starting to lower.

Venne coughed.

"Well you don't sheem all that better either, you're shlurring yer words." Venne muttered back. "Two more pleash!"

Again, they chugged the bottles, slamming them down hard on the counter. They remained silent for ten minutes before slowly glancing over to each other.

"Well now ya look like a shtupid fu *hic* ing retard Venne you shtupid… shtupit…" He managed to growl out.

His vision was becoming blurry, and his thoughts muddled. Venne grabbed his beard, and pulled it lightly.

"Ow…" Michael said. "Shtop it."

He grabbed her hair, and gave a light tug as well.

"Ow…" Venne said. "You shtop it you bubbly bastard."

They both eventually let go after they realized that neither of them were really causing harm to one another, and ordered another drink, and then another, and another. The entire night passed by like that. They both stood up shakily from their respective stools, and faced each other.

"Ou tink dat ou an ust ome ere n' ruin I fuckin' ght?" Michael said, his words slurred to the point where they weren't coherent.

Venne attempted to stand straight up, and stumbled slightly before catching herself.

"Ou ae da one oo deshided oo parp en ere Mical…" She slurred. "Ou re doomb."

Michael frowned.

"No ou er doomb… doomb beezy…"

They argued like that for a while, and eventually they found themselves wandering out into the night, leaving the city of Whiterun. How they managed to exit was anyone's guess, but soon they found themselves in an open field. They babbled at each other in an incoherent language that only drunk people could truly understand. Were they speaking of philosophy? Which one of them was stronger? Questioning the existence of the universe itself? No one would ever know except for the two of them.

…

…

…

Nazeem scowled, an art he had perfected over his many years of living in Whiterun. He saw Michael and Venne stumble out of the gates of Whiterun, muttering to each other in some unintelligible dialect. That was over an hour ago. He liked neither of them much due to the fact that when Nazeem tried to put them in their proper place as lowly commoners, they would beat on him viscously until the guards arrived. They both paid their fine, and laughed at him as he was beaten bloody on the ground. Nazeem hated them. Sure, his former assumption that Venne was a commoner was proven wrong due to the fact that she was the dragonborn, but Michael had _nothing_ to his name, and he dared to strike him.

His scowl deepened, and he rubbed his eyes, sitting up from his bed. Nazeem sat up in his bed, and yawned, his wife groaning.

"Go back to bed." She urged him.

Nazeem ignored her, and sat up from his bed.

"I am thirsty." He told her walking out of his room and into his kitchen.

As opposed to his room, the kitchen always had a candle lit so he could find his way around. He felt himself bump into something… fleshy, and gasped, feeling an invisible hand clasp around his mouth. Another hand restrained his arms and he attempted to scream in an attempt to alert his wife to escape, but his scream was too silent for her to hear.

He saw another flame appear in front of him, floating in midair where he bumped into that fleshy mass. It ripped his shirt off, and pressed the fire into his stomach. Nazeem wanted to cry out, but felt a fist punch his face, knocking him unconscious.

…

…

…

Michael and Venne stumbled out of Nazeem's house, still unbelievably drunk. Their invisibility potions were still active however as neither one of them could see the other.

"Dat was hilatious…" Michael muttered. "I drawed I dack en em."

Venne laughed, the mere sound of it making Michael laugh as well.

"I hant atten dis drank sance Sengene…" She said. "I men… Sangwan… I men… whatever."

"You ae foony Venne…" Michael said.

Venne nodded while still invisible.

"Ye ta Michael… Lesh go to my housh… itsh nesht ta a lak." She said silently.

Michael also nodded.

"Eah okey… Ou ave fond?" Michael asked her as they stumbled towards the gate.

"Ye oi ave fond… lost of fond." She replied.

And so the two drunken retards left Whiterun once more.

…

…

…

Michael slowly opened his eyes, a wooden floor being his first sight. Drool leaked from his mouth onto the ground, and he slowly sat up, his headache all too apparent. His vision was still somewhat blurry, so he couldn't quite make out his surroundings. He sat back on his ass, and put his forehead in his hands. He noticed that he was kind of… cold. He removed his hands and looked down to his body, and his jaw dropped. Gone were his clothes, and in its place, he wore tight fitting brown underwear.

He shook his head, clearing his vision up somewhat. He looked around and saw that he was surrounded by a huge mess. Papers, empty bottles, and stains of what Michael suspected was vomit covered the floorboards. A long wooden table with several shattered dishes on top of it was tilted slightly, and the chairs around it were either tipped over or stacked on top one another. A fire crackled on the opposite side of the room within a stone pit containing it. A brown metal cooking pot sat above it held in place by steel bars. Something cooked within it, but it didn't smell pleasant.

Michael groaned once his headache fully hit him. Hangovers were the worst part of getting drunk. He noticed that there were two sets of stairs on the opposite sides of the room that lead up to a second floor, and three pairs of wooden double doors on each end of the box shaped room. Next to the stone fire pit were two archways that led into another room.

Michael frowned when he realized that he barely remembered what happened last night. He remembered challenging Venne to a drinking contest, and obviously he won, because no way would Michael lose to her. At least he hoped that he won. He also remembered searing a dick into someone's skin with a fire spell, throwing a blue midget into a river, and hugging someone, a lot. Where the hell was he? Was this some kind of tavern? If it was, where was everyone?

He stood up slowly, and popped his back. Michael wanted to find his clothes, but there wasn't an article of any kind of clothing anywhere. He looked to the door closest to him, and slowly pushed it open, the wood creaking. He stepped into the torch lit room, and looked to his right, seeing a massive book fort sitting in a corner, with a single slot for seeing on the front end. He felt like he had something to do with that.

Several bottles lay strewn about, and plates of food. Some of the bottles were even arranged in a large circle in the center of the room standing straight up. A single full bottle of mead sat in the center of it, as if some kind of beer related ritual took place. He fully looked to the left, and saw Venne face down in a blanket less bed.

She wore about as much as Michael did, wearing nothing but tight red undergarments and no bra so he turned his head away, his face turning beet red.

 _What the fuck happened last night?_

He cleared his throat, and slowly stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He sat down again.

"What the hell what the hell what the hell…" He repeated to himself.

Michael knew what the best thing to do was. He went over to where he was laying down previously, and reassumed his position, shutting his eyes. He wasn't going to deal with this right now, he would deal with it when he woke up again, this was just too stressful. Michael quickly drifted off into a peaceful sleep, his headache subsiding when he ceased movement.

After an unknown amount of time passed, he felt a foot nudging him. He ignored it at first, but then he felt a freezing cold hand touch the back of his neck. Michael shot up like a nuke out of a missile silo and screamed out in shock.

"What the fuck!?" He screamed out, scrambling away from whoever had touched him.

Venne stood in front of him, notably more clothed than how he found her before; now wearing the same outfit as last night. She avoided making eye contact with him, and threw some clothes to his feet; those too, were the clothes he wore the previous night.

Michael looked up to her, and sighed, sliding into his clothes. After a minute passed, Venne turned her head back to him, she wrung her hands nervously. More silence passed between the two of them.

"Did you… did you take advantage of me last night?" Venne asked.

Michaels jaw dropped.

"No! Hell no! Dad would come back from the dead and murder my ass if I did!" Michael shouted. "I may not fuckin' remember much, but I know I'd never do that… wait… did _you_ take advantage of _me_ last night!?"

Then Venne's jaw dropped.

"No! Gods no!" She shouted back to him. "With you!? I'd rather be dead!"

"Same here!" Michael shouted back, both of their faces now redder than a tomato.

They both allowed silence to pass for another minute.

"What did we do last night?" Venne asked him. "I remember something about a midget?"

Michael snapped his fingers.

"Yeah I think I threw him in a river or something… and did I draw a dick on someone with fire?" Michael asked.

Venne nodded.

"I actually do remember that one, I grabbed Nazeem and you drew a cock and balls on him, it was hilarious." Venne confirmed.

Michael laughed.

"Oh fuck that's gold!" He shouted.

Venne giggled.

"What else happened?" Michael asked, grinning.

Venne placed a hand on her chin.

"I remember hugging something… a lot." She said.

Michael frowned.

"I do too." Michael said.

They both said nothing.

"Moving on," Venne started. "My house is a mess."

Michael groaned.

"Don't fucking say it." He told her.

"Help me clean-"Venne began.

"Nope." Michael said interrupting her.

Venne scowled at the raven haired wanderer.

"You are just as responsible for this mess as I am Michael! Pull your weight and help me clean!"

Michael groaned.

"I don't wanna." He told her, shifting his weight on the boards.

Venne placed a hand on her chin.

"Please?" She asked.

Michael caved.

"Fiiiiiinnnnneeeee." He answered.

They both sighed, and picked through the house, Michael found out that Venne didn't only have one bedroom; she technically had three, two of which had beds tipped on their sides. She also had an armory with a bunch of mannequins wearing armor. Michael had to admit, that was pretty cool. She had several sets of shiny plated metal armors and racks upon racks of weapons.

Michael wasn't quite sure why he was actually helping his rival clean up her house when normally he would tell her to fuck off and leave. Something felt different about their situation today however. They both found three blue painted goats upstairs that they released out into the wild, running off with great speed. They found other odd bits around the house that they gradually cleaned up, and by the end of the day when the sun set, they were finally done. They both sighed, and sat down on the edge of Venne's bed.

"Michael?" Venne asked.

Michael turned his head to her.

"What?"

"I guess you're okay." She told him.

Michael looked back to the ground and smiled.

"Yeah," He started. "You too Red."

 **You're welcome. Sorry for being gone so long. If you guys want the next chapter out quickly, leave lots of long, hard throbbing reviews, that'll get me on it. Also, a fellow author of mine published a story about Kenshiro from Fist of the North Star being in the Akame ga Kill world, it's pretty cool, so I'd say give it a read.**


End file.
